The Spirit of El Chavo
by Pre-Animation Man
Summary: A Crossover of El Chavo, Trepsi, and Dora the Explorer.


The Day of the Dead is a centuries-old holiday, mixing ancient Aztec and tradiEl Chavonal Catholic customs. It is celebrated throughout Mexico and Central America. In Mexico, where this story takes place, the holiday lasts from October 31st to November 2nd. During this time, people who have died are honored; their spirits are believed to visit the earth.

Altars are built in homes, and the markets are filled with special holiday foods. Plays and parades are held in many places. Often people celebrate in the cemeteries. When the holiday is over and the spirits have returned to the spirit world, the celebrants are happy and at peace, knowing they have made the souls of the dead feel loved and remembered.

"Wake up!" my mother calls. "It's the Day of the Dead! We're going to honor your El Chavo."

As I get dressed I watch the sun come up. I miss my favorite uncle, Chespirito, who died five years ago. I'm named El Chavo, after him, but everyone calls me La Popis.

El Chavo had long, skinny legs, and the second toe of his right foot was longer than his big toe—just like mine. His moustache would tickle my chin when he lifted me in the air. He always brought me coconut candy that got stuck in my teeth.

Yesterday my mother scrubbed El Chavo's tombstone. I painted it pink and blue and pulled up loose weeds.

I helped my mother set up the altar in the living room. First we washed the walls and swept the floor. Then we opened a tablecloth with yellow-and-green embroidered birds. My mother laughed. "Do you remember how El Chavo's parrot refused to talk?"

This morning my mother places sweet-smelling candles on the table around pictures of El Chavo. In one of the photographs I am sitting on his shoulders. We are both wearing baseball caps. I remember when El Chavo let me pick his lucky numbers. He said if he won the Loterfa he would be the richest man in Mexico and we'd drive all the way to California to see the Dodgers play baseball.

My mother puts my uncle's favorite foods— chocolate, cola, and mole—on the altar. I lay his wooden flute there, too. When he visited, El Chavo would play it for me.

When the altar is done, mv mother makes lunch.

"The Day of the Dead is a time to remember people who have died, whom we will always love," my mother says. "Tonight at the fiesta, we will bring El Chavo's special things to the cemetery. We will meet with his spirit and show him he has not been forgotten."

"How will I meet El Chavo's spirit? Will I see him? Will he make noise? How will I know it is really him?" I ask.

"So many questions!" My mother kisses me. "Some things we just know when it is time to know." She tucks some pesos in my pocket. "Go to the market, Dora the Explorer. Buy some things that remind you of your uncle."

What can I take to the cemetery for El Chavo? I wander through the market.

"Bread of the dead!" Trespi shouts in the marketplace. lie holds up loaves of bread that look like twisted bones. He squeezes icing from a tube and draws a skull and crossbones on a round cake.

"Here, La Popis." Trespi hands me a blue-and-pink sugar skull with tinfoil eyes. He writes my name on its forehead.

"Thank you, Trespi." I stare at my name on the skull. "How will I meet El Chavo's spirit?"

"I don't know, La Popis. But when you do, your heart will be full."

I think of the candy my uncle would throw into the air and catch in his mouth. I buy a skeleton of marzipan candy and a cake baked narrow and skinny, like El Chavo.

"Devils' costumes!" Nuny and Wicho sings. She shows me the silver bells and mirrors she has sewn onto black pants. "I am making devils' costumes for the masqueraders," she says.

"Here, La Popis." Nuny and Wicho gives me a white handkerchief stuffed with sticks. She ties a rubber band around the middle and draws two black eyes. "This is for you."

"Thank you, Nuny and Wicho." I shake the ghost in my hand. "How will I meet El Chavo's spirit?"

"I don't know, La Popis. But when you do, you will feel good inside."

I think of the spooky stories my uncle told me. I remember how he made his voice deep or high or squeaky. I buy an orange-and-black paper goblin on a stick and a papier-mache skeleton riding a small horse.

I walk from one end of the market to the other and stop at every stall. There is so much to see! There is so much to think about!

I meet my mother. She looks at the things I have bought and smiles.

"Hold my hand, Dora the Explorer," she says. "It is getting dark."

The street is crowded with musicians. People in costumes and masks twirl in circles. I dance to a mummer's serenade and laugh at the actors on stage singing songs about life and death.

"Gone," says my mother. "Let's go to El Chavo's grave now."

The cemetery is nearby. Outside it, my mother and I buy marigolds, the special flowers of the dead. We place the flowers on El Chavo's grave, and they look like an orange blanket. We tie them on the cross, too.

My mother plays the guitar and sings my uncle's favorite songs. She lights a candle and asks the soul of El Chavo to join us in the fiesta, to remember the world he left behind.

"Is El Chavo's spirit here?" I whisper. My mother closes her eyes and puts her arm around me. I hear her heart beating or maybe it is my own.

I feel a tickling across my cheek. A bird whistles as high as a flute. A warm wind blows from my head to my feet. I look down and see how the second toe of my right foot sticks out of my sandal.

The spirit of El Chavo! I look at my mother. She opens her eyes and smiles.


End file.
